I know, I know

But it's only been three weeks! That is a long time, but it doesn't feel that long for me because I've only written three poems. Oh well.

I just wrote this poem, I like it but somehow I don't think it flows right...?

Dreams are funny things
they fly in and out
full of imressions,
colors,
sounds,
sometimes bringing
story ideas with them
that flourish and blossom
while you're sleeping
filling the night with
anticipation,
potential,
beginnings.
You breath fast when you wake
and stare into the dark--
remembering the dream
that painted your mind
with such possibilities.
Will it shrivel when
the morning light hits it,
or will it strengthen and hold?
The question doesn't
even cross your mind
as there, in the dark,
a world unfurls before you.
This night has brought a gift-
fragile - like and egg--
it will either break or hatch.
For now you hold it close
dreaming
of what's inside.

Aaaaaand a very silly one I wrote last week. I was not in the mood to write a poem.

What I Would Say

If I Kept a Journal

It's 4 aclock
it's raining out
if my handwriting's messy
it's because my eyes are closed
I'm trying to go to sleep
it's not working
but try I will
while the rain patters,
splatters down
and time ticks away
into oblivion.
(That was rather eloquent,
don't you think?)

Kelia